


The Same Awkward Moments

by berryblue_girl



Series: The Gentleman & The Inventor [1]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Child Abuse, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:46:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berryblue_girl/pseuds/berryblue_girl
Summary: Based on the quote:No matter where you are or where you grow up, you always go through the same awkward moments of being a teenager and growing up and trying to figure out who you are. Aimee TeegardenSet prior to the events ofThe Gentleman & the Inventor,these drabbles will give a little backstory to our protagonists and some insights to why they are the way they are.





	1. Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the part of the 30 Fics in 30 Days Beauty and the Beast challenge, created by remuslupinsmiled and the stanfoubrew on Tumblr! I was really inspired to give this challenge a try in an effort to further flesh out these characters. I received such a great response for the first chapter of G&I, so I hope you will enjoy these snapshots just as much. Be forewarned: they won't always be happy.
> 
> About this drabble: Yes, my headcanon is totally that Belle is Esmeralda and Phoebus (here Maurice)'s daughter from the Hunchback of Norte Dame! How could I not?! It was just too juicy! Enjoy!

_March 1826_

Esmeralda rubbed the base of her spine as she maneuvered herself slowly out of her small bed.  Studying the clock on the mantle, she knew that Maurice would be coming home soon and wanted to get dinner started for him.  She knew that he would disapprove of her being on her feet after their friend and physician Robert gave her orders for strict bed rest, but a little activity wouldn’t hurt.  Standing with a groan, she tugged her thick shawl off its hook by her bed and padded barefoot toward the door.  With her feet so swollen, shoes weren’t an option, not that she minded.  It reminded her of dancing on street corners for coins after the fall of Napoleon.  That was where she first met Maurice.

“You need to hurry up, ma Belle,” Esmeralda grumbled, rubbing one hand down her distended belly.  “You’re making your poor maman miserable.”

She felt a firm nudge under her palm, which made her smile.  Although there was no way to know for sure, Esmeralda had been certain from the beginning that this would be a girl.  When she told Maurice, her husband laughed and said, “Whatever you say, my dear.  If it is my lot in life to be surrounded by beautiful women, I willingly accept my fate.”

The air was cool outside but not uncomfortably so.  Her little goat Djali was wandering their small yard as usual, searching for new tufts of grass to consume.  When he heard her come outside, he trotted to her side, the tiny bells on his collar jingling.  Djali followed her to the tiny garden that the couple worked on tirelessly and Esmeralda inspected their prospects.  There were some turnips and carrots that looked promising and, with a little seasoning, could be made into a mash.  The crunching of gravel pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see Maurice riding up the path.  The wide brim of his hat flopped as he waved to her with a smile.  Esmeralda tucked a lock of thick black hair that blew across her face and walked toward her husband.  Reaching up to pat their horse Marc, she observed, “You’re home early, husband.  Fruitful day, I hope.”

“And you’re out of bed, wife,” Maurice countered as he climbed down off Marc.  He patted one of the saddlebags and continued, “As for my day, why don’t you see for yourself?”

Intrigued, Esmeralda moved to his side and lifted the flap of the bag.  Her jaw dropped when she saw that the inside was filled with food: two loaves of bread, oranges, a small wheel of cheese and a rabbit carcass.  As she pulled the animal from the bag, Maurice explained, “That came from one of the traps you had me set.  The other bag is just as full.  Monsieur Jean was very pleased with the portrait I did of his family and insisted on gifting me with food as well as the coin payment.”

“This little one will make a fine stew,” Esmeralda said in approval, leaning forward to kiss her husband’s cheek.  “I could make something for the baby with the pelt.”

With her husband home, she instructed him to pick some turnips and carrots to go in the rabbit stew before preparing the rabbit.  Afterward Maurice ushered her inside and straight to bed, helping her prop her feet up and handing her one of the oranges.  As she gave gentle instructions on how best to prepare the meal, she peeled her treat and bit into one of the sections, delighting as the juice ran down her chin.  Esmeralda stroked her belly as she ate, humming a song her mother used to sing to her as a child.  She tapped the spot right above her navel and smiled when she felt her daughter push back as if in response.

“Hurry up, mon petit,” Esmeralda whispered.  “Your maman and papa can’t wait to meet you.”


	2. Hands

_July 1819_

_Ten little fingers, ten little toes, two tiny ears, one button nose_ , Madeleine recounted lovingly as she watched her baby boy Adam play in his nursery. _His eyes are mine, his hair is mine, and when he grows up, his heart will be mine._

She had never known a love like this in her short eighteen years. She had once fancied herself in love with her husband John, thinking that the reserve she found so appealing in him would melt away once they were wed and not under the constant watchful eyes of their families and the ever-present staff. But their wedding day came and went and still her husband remained out of reach. One night during dinner, she asked him why he remained so distant and his answer chilled her to her soul. With a butler and footman both within earshot, he looked at her coldly and explained, “You cannot be so naive, my lady. Your father lost almost everything during your country’s little revolution, and what little he had left, he was forced to spend on establishing your family here in England. This marriage is simply a business contract, so that my lord father would save yours from total ruin.”

Madeleine felt her cheeks burning and swallowed past the lump in her throat, replying thickly, “I see.”

But the unpleasantness didn’t stop there. Taking a sip of wine, John continued, “That reminds me. I shall visit your bedchamber tonight. The sooner we produce a child or two, the sooner my mother will stop haranguing me with letters from Town.”

“Isn’t he a little angel, my lady? It’s hard to believe he’s only nine months old with as much as he’s grown!”

Madeleine looked away from her son to the nanny, Mrs. Hill. She was a portly woman with a ever-present smile. The young lady returned her smile and said, “Yes, he is. Sometimes I can scarcely believe he came from my body.”

As if aware that he was being discussed, Adam dropped the wooden block he had been playing with and began crawling toward the two women. He had had a few false starts toward walking, but Madeleine believed he would be on his feet in no time. He was such a bright and eager baby. When he was almost at her feet, Madeleine knelt to pick him up, lifting him into the air and causing him to giggle in delight. His curls gleamed like gold, and he reached out one chubby hand to grasp the blue material of her dress. She began to dance slowly about the room, reciting her prayer like a song. “Ten little fingers, ten little toes, two tiny ears, one button nose...your eyes are mine, your hair is mine, and when you grow up, your heart will be mine.”


	3. Bath

_August 1839_

Belle studied the gleaming copper tub with wide-eyed wonder. Of course she knew that the Fletchers would have something larger than the small tin tub that she and her father used, but she didn’t expect it to be quite so beautiful. Each claw foot was ornately decorated to look like a sea creature of some sort, and the back curved upward in a gentle slope, inviting one to lay back. When her father had been called to London for important business and was instructed to come alone, he asked the Fletchers to look after Belle while he was gone. Three days after he had departed, Belle had been walking around the large pond at Rosemount Park. Sir Anthony had shown her a book on botany, and she had been trying to identify the different plants around the pond. She had climbed on a log to try and reach one of the water lilies when she fell into the shallow water. Sir Anthony and Lady Fletcher were shocked when Belle approached them in the garden, covered from head to toe in mud and moss. But what sent them into fits of laughter was when Belle held out the botany book with her one clean hand and said, “I made sure I didn’t dirty it, sir.”

Prudence helped her clean off as much of the mess as possible while Lady Fletcher had a few maids draw her a bath. Belle loved Prudence like a sister. She wasn’t like the other girls in the village; whatever she had, she shared with Belle without question. Belle approached the tub and picked up one of the glass vials that sat on the table next to it. Prudence had brought in some of her favorite bath items for Belle to add to the water. Pulling off the top, Belle lifted the vial to her nose and smiled when she smelled the sweet scent of roses. She eagerly added this to her water, taking care not to use too much. Sniffing through the other vials, she added some lilac and lavender as well before climbing into the steaming water.

When Belle sat down, she smiled when the water rose almost to her chin and she was able to stretch out her legs. She laid back and let out a little groan at how decadent it all felt. While she adored her father and their little cottage with all her heart, she couldn’t help but feel envious of Prudence at times. Growing up in such a large estate with an army of servants to take care of the myriad of household chores and all the time in the world to read...it sounded heavenly.

Belle picked up a wash cloth that hung off the edge of the tub and a bar of soap from the table. She worked the soap into the cloth until she had a thick lather. Setting the bar aside, she began scrubbing away the remaining dirt from her skin. While she was scrubbing, there was a soft knock at the door. Blushing, Belle huddled against the side of the tub before calling out, “Who is it?”

“Prudence! May I come in?”

Belle excitedly gave her consent, and the older girl opened the door with a smile on her face. As she closed the door, Prudence pressed a hand against one cheek and mock gasped, “Belle, it _is_  you! I was certain we had been invaded by a bog monster!”

Belle rolled her eyes and asked, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

Prudence simply shook her head and drew herself closer to the bathtub. Kneeling neatly on the floor, she propped herself against the tub by resting her arms on the broad lip of the tub and her chin on top of her arms. Smiling at Belle, she asked, “Are you enjoying your bath?”

Belle glanced around at her surrounding once more before replying, “Yes! I feel like Cinderella getting ready for the ball.”

Prudence arched an eyebrow and said, “I do hope I’m not a wicked stepsister in that scenario.”

“No, of course not!” Belle insisted. After an awkward pause, she bit the inside of her cheek and said softly, “You’re what those girls ought to have been. You’re...you’re the sister I would have wanted had my mother lived.”

Belle felt her throat close up suddenly and felt more than just physically. She couldn’t look Prudence in the eye without feeling embarrassed, so she just studied the swirling patterns on the walls. Of course the girls shared many secrets in the past, but this was one Belle kept locked away deep inside her heart; one that felt too raw and personal to be spoken aloud.

“I feel the same way.”

The response was so soft that at first Belle wasn’t sure she had heard Prudence correctly. But when she looked back at her friend, she saw the truth reflected in Prudence’s eyes. Shrugging, she averted her gaze this time and went on, saying, “I was something of a miracle child for my parents. They had wanted more but....nothing ever came of it.”

Belle felt awful for Sir Anthony and Lady Fletcher in that moment. Prudence sniffed and turned to Belle, saying a little too brightly, “I think that’s why Mama and Papa were so taken with you. It was like a shot of new life here!”

Belle smiled, her vision a little blurry, and moved closer to Prudence. She leaned in to kiss the girl’s cheek, whispering, “Sisters.”

Prudence wiped away a stray tear that had slid down her cheek and laughed, leaning in to return the kiss on Belle’s cheek. As she pulled away, Prudence confirmed with a short nod, “Sisters.”


	4. Leather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Scene of aftermath of child abuse

_December 1832_

Mrs. Potts met Dr. Travis in the foyer of Villeneuve. She held his medical bag as he removed his overcoat and handed it to the footman. As he straightened his jacket, Mrs. Potts said, “Thank you for coming so late, Dr. Travis.”

“It’s not a problem, Mrs. Potts,” the doctor replied, taking his bag from her. She led them to the stairs, Dr. Travis saying, “The lady’s letter made it sound quite urgent. Where is the boy now?”

“In his room,” Mrs. Potts explained and the pair walked up the stairs to the East Wing of the house. Mrs. Potts could hear screams and glass shattering echoing from the West Wing and felt her heart skip a beat in worry. Straightening up, she took the doctor to Adam’s room and frowned when she saw that the door was cracked open. Fury swept over her, quick and fierce, as she had instructed the maid Jane to keep everyone out of the room. Mrs. Potts didn’t want the poor boy subjected to any more gossip than was necessary. A mixture of dread and relief flooded her body when she saw little Philippa perched on the bed, helping Jane hold a cloth against a wound on his left shoulder. Jane had a pleading look in her eyes as Philippa asked Mrs. Potts, “Who hurt my brother, Mrs. Potts?”

The housekeeper had never in her life felt so helpless. She hadn’t seen such violence done to a child before: the boy’s back was covered with dark red welts, some cutting deep enough to draw blood. He would carry some of the marks from this encounter for the rest of his life. How could she even begin to explain to that little girl who had hurt her brother? Before Mrs. Potts could begin to formulate a reply, Adam lifted his sweaty head and rasped, “You needn’t trouble yourself with that, Pippa. The doctor’s here now. I’m going to be fine, you’ll see.”

“Your brother’s quite right,” Dr. Travis seconded. He moved closer to the bed and kept going, saying, “I promise to take very good care of him, just as I took care of you when you had your little cold. Remember?”

Philippa nodded silently, her green eyes still filled with worry. Mrs. Potts exchanged a look with Jane, who cleared her throat and said in a chipper tone, “We mustn’t get in the way of the doctor, little miss. Come along and I shall read you a story.”

Before she allowed Jane to take her back to her room, Philippa leaned down and kissed his cheek. As Jane helped her climb down from the bed, Philippa reached out and took her brother’s hand, insisting, “Don’t be afraid, Adam. Papa will find the bad man who did this.”

Mrs. Potts felt her heart skip a beat and had to look away for a moment. As Jane took Philippa back to bed, Adam turned his sweaty head to look at the two adults left in the room. Licking his lips and looking very much like the scared fourteen year old that he was, he asked, “Mrs. Potts, could you please go get my mother?”

Mrs. Potts gave him a smile and said, her voice cracking, “Of course, my dear.”

If there was one area of the house Mrs. Potts wanted to avoid at this particular moment, it was the West Wing. From the moment Sir John disappeared upstairs and Adam was brought inside from the barn, Lady Lawrence’s voice had not stopped echoing throughout the house. The housekeeper could hear it as she descended the stairs to the East Wing, and the words became cleared the closer she got to Sir John’s study. She paused outside the door, unsure of when to enter. Something thudded against the door and she heard Sir John snap, “Toss another book again and you will regret it, woman!”

“The only thing I regret is marrying a beast like you!” Lady Lawrence shouted back. “You will not lay neither hand nor belt on my son again!”

“He’s my son as well, madam, and you will do well to remember that fact!” Sir John growled. There was a pause in the shouting, but just as Mrs. Potts lifted her hand to knock, the lord continued, “The boy has no one to blame but himself. I won’t have you coddling him any longer. He’s grown soft, and that is something I cannot allow. I’m sending him away to a school in London to finish his education.”

“First you beat him like a dog,” Lady Lawrence cried and Mrs. Potts bit her in worry, “and now you want to send him away like a criminal! Are you completely heartless?”

Not wanting to hear anymore, Mrs. Potts took the opportunity to knock, tugging her hands back her back. Seconds later, Sir John yanked the door open and glared at her. His usually carefully styled hair was disheveled, and there was scratch marks on his cheek. Swallowing and refusing to buckle under his furious gaze, Mrs. Potts turned her attention to Lady Lawrence and said, “You asked me to retrieve you when the doctor arrived, my lady. Adam has asked for you as well.”

Sir John scoffed and rolled his eyes as Lady Lawrence wiped at her flushed, tear-stained cheeks and said, her voice rough from screaming, “Thank you, Mrs. Potts.”

Mrs. Potts stepped to one side as Lady Lawrence tidied herself as best she could and exited the study, pausing in the opening to glare at her husband. “We shall continue this discussion in the morning, my lord.”

Mrs. Potts watched as the man’s jaw clenched and he replied through gritted teeth, “What little that will accomplish; my mind is made up, my lady. It will not be changed.”

Mrs. Potts followed the lady as she made her way down the hallway, both ladies flinching as Sir John slammed the door to the study closed. Mrs. Potts trailed behind Lady Lawrence, thinking back on Philippa’s all-too innocent words. “ _Don’t worry, Adam. Papa will find the bad man who did this._ ” Sorrow filled her heart as she knew that one day that innocence would wilt and fade away in the face of Sir John’s hard truths. She could only hope and pray Philippa would not bear scars of that knowledge as Adam would.


	5. Routine

_October 1841_

Belle woke up when her black cat Alastair began circling her head, demanding to be let out of her room. She groaned and sat up in bed, immediately shivering from the chill in the room. Alastair hopped down from the bed, still meowing insistently, as Belle blindly groped in the dark for her robe. After tugging it on, Belle pushed her blanket off her legs and adjusted the wooly socks on her feet. She got out the bed reluctantly with Alastair winding in and out of her legs.

“Away with you!” Belle grumbled, opening her bedroom door and shooing him off with one foot. “You’ll never get outside if I trip and fall.”

She stumbled about in the darkness until she reached one of cottage windows and tugged the curtains open. The pale light of dawn spilled into the room, and Alastair leapt onto the window ledge to observe the morning. Belle lit a collection of candles in the center of their small dining table and moved to stoke the fire back to life. Soon the room was filled with the gentle sounds of the crackling fire. Belle had a simple breakfast of buttered toast and an apple while rereading a book lent to her by the Fletchers. She had been finished with this current batch of books for at least a week but hadn’t been able to go to the Fletchers to return them because of her papa “feeling gray.”

Belle had known from a young age that her papa held a sadness deep within him. It stemmed from the horrors he had witnessed during the Napoleonic Wars and losing her maman. He was good at hiding it the majority of the time, but there were moments when that sadness got the better of him. She had come to call these periods “gray” as it seemed as though all the life she knew to be inside him had been sapped away, leaving only the ghost of her papa in its place.

Belle felt anxiety and worry claw at her as one of his tinkering repairs was supposed to have been delivered the previous day. She had worked on it for a few hours yesterday after taking care of her own chores, carefully following his notes. He had been almost finished, so there wasn’t much for her to do. Wringing her hands and standing up, she looked out the window with Alastair and contemplated her options. They needed the money and she worried that if they were delinquent another day, the customer would refuse to pay.

“Looks like I’ll just have to go to town on my own,” Belle said to Alastair, who nuzzled her hand when she pet him.

Without looking at a clock, she could tell she still had a few hours before the village would get into the full swing of activity. She went back to her room and pulled on a pair of trousers she had sewn for herself and one of her papa’s old shirts. When it was just herself and her papa at the cottage, Belle didn’t have to worry about propriety while doing chores. Running a brush through her hair and tying it back with a strip of leather, she left her room and plucked her papa’s floppy hat from its hook and pulled it onto her head as she walked outside, Alastair trailing behind her. She began by hauling buckets of fresh water from the stream near their cottage for the animals. Her papa usually did this heavier work, but she could do it in a pinch. After that, she set out to feed the animals, which had begun to liven up at her activities. The chickens were fed first, Belle ducking into the coop to collect any eggs. The goats and cow were next before Belle finished out with the horses. There was Pepper, who was a light gray, and Chestnut, who was a rich brown. Belle gave them their usual food as well as apples as treats. The horses had come to expect it from her, as it was something she started when she was a little girl.

After the animals were taken care of, Belle tended to the garden, harvesting vegetables and herbs that were ready. By the time that she went back inside with the eggs and gardening, the sun was high in the sky. She set everything down on the table to be cleaned later and headed down the hall. The door to her papa’s room was still closed, and she pressed an ear against it to listen for any movement. Sighing when she heard nothing, she went into her room across the hall and began getting ready for town. She scrubbed away the dirt and sweat of the morning, changed into a plain brown dress, and tied her apron in front. At her vanity, she fixed her hair into something a bit more respectable and neat. She chose to keep on her work boots and left her room, heading further down the hall to the studio.

She collected her papa’s small ledger and tucked it into one of the apron’s pockets. Picking up one of his pencil, she left him a little note on his workbench before packing up the repaired clock. She had never made a delivery by herself before, having always gone with her papa. But they couldn’t afford to lose the money, gray period or not. Sometimes she got frustrated with him and wondered why he couldn’t be like the other fathers in the village or like Sir Anthony. A few months back, she had written to her Aunt Beatrice and vented those exact frustrations to her. Her aunt had written back and told Belle that they both knew her papa had seen things in war at such a tender age that the fathers in the village hadn’t and that no man comes back from that unchanged. _I know it’s difficult having to manage that household by yourself, but he’s told me in his letters how much he appreciates you and your love and understanding during those times. You must be strong, my dear. If it ever gets to be too much, you know I will always come to help._

Belle carefully placed the clock in the trunk her papa had built into the cart for his deliveries. She brushed Pepper’s mane and fed him another apple before hitching him to the cart. Her neighbor Mr. Martin gave her a confused look and a wave as she passed him on the road going toward the village, and she couldn’t say that she blamed him. Her papa was usually the one at the helm. As she rode into the village, she pulled her papa’s ledger from her apron and steered the cart toward the customer’s house. She struggled to get Pepper to stop, earning an ugly look from a man who was crossing the road. Her cheeks burning, she climbed down from the cart and pulled the clock from the trunk. She approached the front door and knocked. An older woman answered and Belle said with as confidence as she could muster, “Hello, I’m Mr. Durant’s daughter. May I speak with the lady or gentleman of the house?”

The woman welcomed her inside and led her into the front parlour. Belle swallowed nervously as she surveyed the room and kept a firm grip on her packet. A few minutes later, Mrs. Andrews entered the parlour with a confused look which quickly faded into a smile.

“Belle!” she said happily. “What a pleasure it is to see you. Where is your father? We were expecting him yesterday with our clock.”

Belle returned the smile, reciting the story she had formed on her trip to the village. “I apologize for the delay, Mrs. Andrews. Papa came down with a terrible sudden illness and couldn’t make it into the village.”

As the woman made a sympathetic noise, Belle cast her eyes downward and continued, “I’ll understand if you refuse to make full payment-”

“I wouldn’t dream of such a thing!” Mrs. Andrews insisted, cutting Belle off. She waved the maid into the room, who took the clock from Belle’s arms, as she dug around in her coin purse and gave Belle the payment. Belle made sure to be extra gracious to the woman, thanking her for her understanding, and accepted her offer to stay for tea. She couldn’t fight the twinge of guilt when she thought of her papa lying in his darkened room, tormented by demons and memories from the past, while she sat in the sunny parlour and talked village gossip with Mrs. Andrews. When other visitors came to call, Belle made her excuses and left, having other calls to make. She checked in with three of her papa’s other customers and reassured them that deliveries would be made soon. Her last stop was to the postmaster to deliver letters to her Aunt Beatrice. As she steered the cart homeward, she longed to make a visit to the Fletchers, but she hated the idea of leaving her papa alone for so long.

It was sometime after noon when she arrived home. She unhitched Pepper and headed inside, thinking of things to make to tempt her papa to eat. To her surprise and delight, he was sitting next to the fireplace when she came inside, some color already back in his cheeks. Alastair was curled up in his lap as he looked up from one of the Fletcher’s books. He gave her a weak smile and rasped, “Hello, my dear. Did you head into the village?”

Relief flooded her body, almost making her dizzy with it. Belle eagerly went to his side and gave his scruffy cheek a firm kiss, saying, “Yes, papa. I delivered the clock to Mrs. Andrews. I told her you were sick.”

He cupped her cheek and she held it there. He gave her a grateful smile and said, “You look after me so well. I don’t know what I’d do without you, my Belle.”

Belle kissed his palm and replied softly, her voice thick with emotion, “And you never will. Now...shall I fix you something to eat?”

He nodded and she straightened up, bustling about the kitchen and repeating the stories Mrs. Andrews had told her over tea. As she worked, she felt the heaviness that had held her heart crumble away. For now, the gray was gone from their little world.


	6. Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Philippa plays is inspired by a real song by Lindsey Stirling! I highly recommend you check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=inb8MMZ-QmA

_June 1842_

Adam felt a swell of pride as Philippa finished her performance, bringing the violin down from her chin and giving a little curtsey. She had charmed everyone she came into contact with during the coming out season, even though she wasn’t one of the girls being presented. His mother had an enormous smile on her face, and Adam even saw his grandmother surreptitiously wipe away a tear. After putting away her violin and handing the case off to a maid, Philippa made her way toward her family, pausing ever so often to accept praise from the party guests. The family had arrived in London at Lawrence House for the season in early May, and it had been a near constant stream of such gatherings. The debutantes had been presented to the Queen just last week, including the daughter of a friend of the family, Emily Cogsworth. At a gentlemen’s club earlier that week, Adam and Cogsworth had begun planning a hunting expedition to the country for the men as a break from the festivities. After finishing a conversation with Lady Gardener, Philippa finally reached her family. Their mother was the first to speak, gushing, “Oh my darling girl, you played like an angel!”

“It’s a pity you aren’t coming out,” their grandmother commented, leaning on her cane. “You would have caught the eye of many a young man with that performance.”

Philippa leaned in to kiss her cheek, replying with a laugh, “Oh Granny, you’re always scheming. This is Emily’s season. Mine will come soon enough.”

“A little too soon for my taste,” their mother tutted, leading their grandmother away to a group of ladies in the corner of the room.

Philippa turned to face him and asked nervously, “Do you think anyone noticed when I went flat on a note during the second refrain?”

Adam shook his head. “You corrected yourself so fast, one would have had to been listening for it very carefully. I barely caught it. Mama is right: you played beautifully, Pippa. Bask in the moment.”

Philippa beamed at him and hugged him around the neck with a little squeal, causing a few people around them to laugh good-naturedly. Adam returned her hug before she released him. Ever since their father had passed away the year before and Adam had begun making an effort to spend more time at home, the two had been reconnecting for the first time in what seemed like ages. When Adam had discovered her passion for music and composition, he had done all he could to support her, from buying books about different composers and musical styles to finding music tutors to teach her a variety of different instruments. So far she had considerable skill with the piano forte and violin and had set her sights on studying the flute and harp next. As they discussed her performance, they were joined by Sir Cogsworth and an unknown gentleman with a large smile on his face. Cogsworth said with a nod of his head, “Lawrence and Miss Philippa, I’d like to introduce a new acquaintance, Mr. Louis D’Meir.”

Before Adam or Philippa could say anything, D’Meir turned to Philippa and said, “After your performance, I insisted that Cogsworth introduce us at once! Your performance nearly moved me to tears, miss. I am a lover of music myself and wanted to know who the composer of that piece was. I love to acquire the sheet music.”

The siblings exchanged looks, and Philippa’s eyes were wide with excitement and shock. Adam grinned and gestured toward D’Meir, urging her with, “Go on, Pippa. Tell him who the composer is.”

Philippa smacked his arm before turning back to the Frenchman. Her cheeks were a bright pink as she explained, “I wrote it, sir, after my father passed away. It’s called Song of the Caged Bird.”

In the past, Philippa had told Adam of the negative reactions she had dealt with when telling people she composed music. Most people had brushed it off as a hobby, albeit an odd one for a girl of good breeding, while their father had forbidden it out right. She continued in secret, which Adam had admired about his younger sister. He had buckled under the weight of their father’s expectations while Philippa fought against it. D’Meir endeared himself to Adam immediately wtih his reaction to her revelation. He began asking her questions about her process and motivations behind the piece. As the pair talked, Adam exchanged looks of amusement and Cogsworth said, “Yes, D’Meir has that effect on everyone he meets.”

“He seems to liven things up,” Adam remarked, grinning as his sister gestured wildly about something. Turning his attention back to Cogsworth, he said, “Bring him to dinner tomorrow. I think he’d be an excellent addition to the party.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and kudos below and give me your thoughts! I have divided the prompts evenly between Adam and Belle and plan on going back and forth posting prompt responses for them both. Here is the list if you're curious or would like to make a request:
> 
> Adam: Blue, Midnight, Mirror, ~~Leather, Hands~~ , Sick, Lies, Smile, First, Memory, Game, Morning, Breakfast, Blanket, Ending, Dreams
> 
> Belle: Dessert, Dance, Rejection, Grass, Tears, Sand, ~~Routine, Bath~~ , Cat, Passion, Jealousy, Bright, Arrow, Family, ~~Fruit~~


End file.
